Cachelin, in despair, wished to make her carry it back again; then he calmed himself at the thought of the Twelfth Night cake, which he divided with great mystery as though it contained a prime secret. All fixed their gaze on the symbolic cake, then Mlle. Charlotte directed that each one close his eyes while taking a piece.
Who would be the king? A childish, expectant smile was on the lips of everyone. M. Lesable uttered a little “ah” of astonishment, and showed between his thumb and forefinger a great white bean still covered with pastry. Cachelin began to applaud, then cried: “Choose the queen! choose the queen!”
The king hesitated an instant only. Would it not be a politic act to choose Mlle. Charlotte? She would be flattered, brought over, his friend ever after! Then he reflected that it was really Mlle. Cora for whom he had been invited, and that he would seem like a ninny in choosing the aunt. He turned toward his youthful neighbor, and handing her the royal bean said: “Mademoiselle, will you permit me to offer it to you?” And they looked one another in the face for the first time.
She replied: “Thank you, Monsieur,” and received the gage of sovereignty.
He thought: “She is enormously pretty, this girl. Her eyes are superb. She is gay, too, if I am not mistaken!”
A sharp detonation made the two women jump. Cachelin had just opened the champagne, which escaped from the bottle and ran over the tablecloth. Then the glasses were filled with the frothy stuff and the host declared: “It is of good quality, one can see that.” But as Lesable was about to drink to prevent his glass from running over, César cried: “The king drinks! the king drinks! the king drinks!” And Mlle. Charlotte, also excited, squeaked in her thin voice: “The king drinks! the king drinks!”
Lesable emptied his glass with composure, and replacing it on the table said: “You see I am not lacking in assurance.” Then turning toward Mlle. Cora he said: “It is yours, Mademoiselle!”
She wished to drink, but everybody having cried: “The queen drinks! the queen drinks!” she blushed, began to laugh, and put the glass down again.
The end of the dinner was full of gaiety; the king showed himself most attentive and gallant toward the queen. Then when they had finished the liqueurs, Cachelin announced:
“We will have the table cleared away now to give us more room. If it is not raining, we can go to the balcony for a few minutes.” He wanted Lesable to see the view, although it was night.
The glass door was thrown open. A moist, warm breeze entered. It was mild outdoors as in the month of April. They all mounted the step which separated the dining room from the large balcony. They could see nothing but a vague glimmer hovering over the great city, like the gilt halos which they put on the heads of the saints. In some spots this light seemed more brilliant, and Cachelin began to explain:
“See, that is the Eden blazing down there. Look at the line of the boulevards. Isn’t it wonderful, how you can distinguish them! In the daytime it is splendid, this view. You would have to travel a long way before you saw anything finer!”
Lesable was leaning on the iron balustrade, by the side of Cora, who gazed into the void, silent, distraught, seized of a sudden with one of those melancholy languors which sometimes oppress the soul. Mlle. Charlotte returned to the room, fearing the damp. Cachelin continued to speak, his outstretched hand indicating the places where they would find the Invalides, the Trocadéro, the Arc de Triomphe.
Lesable in a low voice asked: “And you, Mlle. Cora, do you like to look at Paris from this height?”
She gave a little shiver, as though she had been dreaming and answered: “I? Yes, especially at night. I think of all the things which are happening there in front of us. How many happy people and how many who are unhappy in all these houses! If one could see everything, how many things one might learn!”
He came a little nearer, until their elbows and their shoulders touched:
“By moonlight this should be like fairyland.”
She murmured: “Ah, yes, indeed. One would say it was an engraving by Gustave Doré. What a pleasure it would be to take a long walk on these roofs.”
Then he questioned her regarding her tastes, her dreams, her pleasures. And she replied without embarrassment, after the manner of an intelligent, sensible girl—one who was not more imaginative than was necessary.
He found her full of good sense, and he said to himself that it would be wonderfully sweet to put his arm about that firm, round figure, and to press a score of little slow kisses, as one drinks in little sips of excellent brandy, on that fresh cheek, near the ear, just where a ray from the lamp fell upon it. He felt himself attracted, moved by the sensation of the proximity of a beautiful woman, by the thirst for her ripe and virginal flesh and by that delicate seductive influence a young girl possesses. It seemed to him he could remain there for hours, nights, weeks, forever, leaning towards her, feeling her near to him, thrilled by the charm of that contact. And something like a poetic sentiment stirred his heart in the face of that great Paris, spread out before him, brilliant in her nocturnal life, her life of pleasure and debauchery. It seemed to him that he dominated the enormous city, that he hovered over it; and he thought how delicious it would be to recline every evening on such a balcony beside a woman, to love her and be loved by her, to press her to his breast, far above the vast city, and
